


Paradox

by Cheekybeak



Series: Darkness [19]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 12:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheekybeak/pseuds/Cheekybeak
Summary: A wounded Legolas means Elrohir is left with a choice. Stay or Go?A oneshot that fits between “Even the Darkest Night Will End” and “After Sunset Comes the Dawn”





	Paradox

**Author's Note:**

> In the oneshot Even the Darkest Night Will End we discover Legolas suffered a near fatal injury in that battle but we do not see it. One of my lovely reviewers asked me to write about that and here it is.   
> I didn’t actually intend to but discovered I have to before I can write any more of “Sunset” That’s the problem when characters have their own minds.

  
**Elrohir**

**Dagor Dagorath**

They call it the Battle of all Battles and I am astonished to find myself here amongst Ancients from long ago who have returned to us. Never in a million years do I deserve to stand beside them.

But in truth it is just the same as any other war I have been in. Just as much death, just as much pain. It is not glorious. Those fighting it may be—but the war itself; not glorious at all.

I can only narrow my focus to the spot upon which I stand, the foe in front of me, and fight.

“Elrohir!”

The voice that calls my name across the battlefield as I attempt to catch my breath is desperate.

Fearful, panicked, despairing, it drives a knife deep into my heart.

I know who it is. I know what it must mean.

Erynion is a sprite of the wood, but he is the most unusual woodelf I have ever met. He is not flighty in the slightest but steady, serious, ever watchful. I suppose the Wood needed some like him or how could anything get done there?

But Erynion is more than that. He is a self appointed guard over my Love.

The fear in his voice chills me.

I cannot reach him fast enough. I do not even remember how I do.

Legolas; lithe, beautiful, ethereal, is not on his feet. He should be. He is meant to be. He is sure and strong, skilled and agile. With Erynion by his side he should be safe. As safe as any of us are here.

He is _meant_ to be safe.

And he is not.

He lies in a pool of blood, his breath, short sharp gasps, his eyes wide, and he grasps at my hand like a dying man. He _is_ a dying man. All I can feel is his terror.

“What happened?” I scream it at Erynion who does not deserve it. “What _happened_?”

“I do not even know.” It is Legolas who answers in a gasping whisper. “I do not know, Elrohir. Forgive me.”

Why ask me that? Forgive him what?

The wound snakes around his chest and down his side. Erynion’s hands trying to staunch the flow of blood look as if they are the only thing holding Legolas together.

I cannot fix this.

I am not a healer. I have tried over many hundreds of years to become one but it could take thousands of years and I still would still not succeed. I have no talent for it. Legolas tells me I heal his soul but he does not need soul-healing now. That is not enough. I need my brother.

But I cannot find him. When I lift my head I see only chaos and there is no sign of Elladan anywhere; none.

So I pull my hand away from Legolas and stand.

“Where do you go?” Erynion cries reaching out to grab me. “Do not leave him!”

“To find Elladan. I need Elladan.”

“And Legolas needs _you_. Do not waste time searching for one who cannot help us.”

“He _can_ help us!” I have to believe that, I have to.

“Do not go.” It is Legolas who pleads between ragged breaths, “Do not leave me, Elrohir. Stay, please stay. I need your light to lead me.” There are tears upon his cheeks and I cannot watch his fear.

“I will be back, I promise.” Bending down, I cup his face between my hands but all it does is smear blood across his beauty. His blood. “I will find Elladan. He will mend you.”

“He cannot mend me. I have been here before. Stay and light the way. Please Elrohir.”

But I cannot. I cannot sit, do nothing and let him go. I cannot.

“Aragorn followed me all the way to the Gates themselves, Can you not at least stay?” he cries but I tear myself away.

I will save him.

“Elrohir!” It is Erynion’s furious cry which echoes after me as I leave.

The battle is noise, dust, pandemonium; the panic is overwhelming. I cannot still myself. I cannot hear.

“ _Elladan_!”

Where is he?

“ _Elladan_!” I scream it down our bond as I rake my eyes across the dying. “ _Elladan_!”

 _“I hear you, brother. Where are you_?” Relief at the sound of his voice robs the strength from my legs leaving me able only to drop to my knees.

_“I need you, I need you, I need you.”_

It is the cry of a child and it is all I am capable of. My light, my life, bleeds out on to the ground beneath Erynion’s hands.

“I am here.” The hand upon my shoulder gives me strength as he has always done, all my life. “Are you hurt?”

“Legolas.”

I have to say no more.

Elladan is a healer of extraordinary talent. Not my father’s match perhaps but nearly so. From our earliest days his abilities were clear—so gifted, so able. And he has a softness to go with it. He can calm you with a look.

The time he spends shut away with Legolas is interminable.

Banished outside the tent with Erynion I am left with no one to shelter me from his anger. I thought him quiet and steady but he is all raging, wild, Silvan now.

“You _left_ him.” He spits at me eyes flashing. “I did not think you capable of it.”

“I went to _save_ him.” I do not understand why he does not see that. I have found Elladan. Legolas is still here.

“Save him for what? A longer, more painful death than a warriors one on the battlefield? He is not saveable. It was too hard for you and you ran away.”

“I did _not_!” I am enraged in return. How dare he! “Why will you not fight for him? You will give him up and walk away!”

“Walk away?” Erynion is on his feet now, feral and dangerous. “Says you who truly will walk away from this. I am the one who must return home to tell his love—to tell his son—we have lost him. Not you! She will know as soon as she sees he is not at my side but I will have to tell her. I will have to shatter her heart. Where will you be?”

“Stop it!”

Had Elladan not chosen then to emerge I believe Erynion may have struck me and we would have ended up brawling upon the ground.

“Stop it, Elrohir.” Elladan looks tired, weary, empty. Why does he chose me to criticise? But too late I realise Erynion weeps. Bitter tears leave silver trails upon his cheeks.

His heart breaks.

“It will not be that way, Erynion.” He will not take my comfort. He turns instead to Elladan who has no light left. He has left it all in that tent with Legolas.

“He is as comfortable as I can get him.” He says, “but he may not know you. Go sit with him and see him on his way.”

Those are the words he says but I do not understand them.

“What do you mean? Where do you send him?” Does he mean to try and reach Valinor for I do not think that doable.

“I send him nowhere, brother.” His tired voice drops softer, almost a caress as he holds my hand. “Mandos sends for him. He has escaped it once but not this time, Elrohir. Not this time.”

He thinks Erynion is right. They none of them will stand and fight with me. They all will give him up.

“You are wrong!”

My brother takes both my hands then and holds them tight.

“I am _right_.”

“No! I will find someone who will listen to me. I will find someone who will fight for him with me!”

“Elrohir. . . “ he sighs and it is the sigh that breaks me. I have heard that sigh a thousand times, from my Father mainly, It means _Elrohir, how many times must I explain this to you? Elrohir, why can you not understand? Elrohir, must we go over this again?_

Elladan has never before let me down. He has never before not come through for me, There is always a first time and it is now. .

He grasps at my arm as I turn and go, rough enough to tear my sleeve.

“You will _not_ run from this, Elrohir. You will stay and face it. He needs you.”

“He needs me to fight since none of you will.”

“He needs you to be _here_.”

This is one time Elladan is wrong.

 

I know where to go and I know who to call.

They have us encamped in family groups, we Noldor, and at the centre of ours—of course—is the High King. Finarfin, Arafinwë, whatever you chose to call him. We have met—he is my Great Grandfather, yet I hardly know him.

But with him will be Finrod.

Bright, glorious, shining Finderáto. We are awkward at best, adversaries at worst. I have avoided him, challenged him, argued with Legolas because of him, and now I need him.

He has only his intense stare to greet me when I find him.

“I need you.”

He tilts his head, raises an eyebrow.

“Now you want me? But I am a heretic. An indulger in false hope.”

I do not have time to discuss the nature of our lives with him today. Always he talks too much, thinks too much, and acts too slowly.

“Legolas needs you. They have cut him through.”

He cannot refuse that and he brings the King with him.

Together they stride; luminous beacons, golden heads above the crowds, so glorious all will stop to watch as they pass by.

Whereas I trail behind, lost in their shadow but I do not mind. If they will just heal my love I do not mind at all.

Finrod has an embrace for Elladan who barely stands, so exhausted is he, and urgent whispered muttering before they disappear ainto the tent—beyond my eyes—to Legolas.

And I wait.

Erynion waits with me. We do not speak. His anger washes over me in waves and he writes; an urgent scrawling letter to his own King.

The sun sets. Night passes. Sleep descends upon others and Arafinwë and Finderáto remain.

Elladan, when he prods me from my dozing, is pale. He says nothing. Finderáto, when he opens the door and lets me in, does not smile. Arafinwë, when he gestures me towards the bed, is somber.

Legolas, when I see him, sleeps.

He sleeps for hours, but when he wakes it is with fever, and pain, crying out for those not here to comfort him—his parents, his brother. He sees things we cannot see that terrify him in the dark, and worst of all he screams for my brother. Not Elladan but my small brother, my foster brother dead long ago, and the Dwarf. Erynion sits beside him with me—in silence—for Erynion is all ice cold fury still. Every scream makes Erynion hate me more.

Only when Finrod comes does Legolas calm for Finrod sings. He strokes the soft gold hair and conjours visions of the woods, the birds, the trees, with his words and he watches me.

But finally, when I thought it would not come, there is the day Legolas does not cry with terror when he wakes. Instead he blinks.

It is a slow blink of astonishment as if he does not believe where he finds himself to be.

Those green eyes slide sideways across my face.

“Where is Erynion?”

The voice, raw from calling for those who do not come, is little more than a whisper.

All these hours and the moment he chooses to ask for Erynion is the moment he is not there.

“He has gone away to sleep, Legolas. He did not wish to. Elladan ordered it.” I reach for his hand and he takes it. Not the desperate grip of fear and death this time, but it is strong, and there is love.

“Where were you?”

He confuses me.

“I have been right here, Legolas. All this time. Right here.”

His free hand snakes across his chest, feeling cautiously at bulky bandages that wrap him tight.

And finally he turns his gaze upon me. A long slow gaze of Thranduil that strips me to my core.

“You left me.”

He does not understand. He sees he still lives but does not know what it cost me to get him here.

“I _saved_ you, Legolas.”

The sigh is long, the breath is deep, the eyes—when he meets mine—full of sorrow.

The words pierce my heart.

  
“But I did not ask you to: I asked you to stay.”

  
And I do not know how to answer that.

 

 

 

 


End file.
